


Drowning With Fever

by IcyPanther



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Again sort of, Altean Lance (Voltron), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Modification, Drowning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fever, Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Shance, Platonic Sheith, Protective Keith (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron), Sick Fic, Sick Lance (Voltron), Sort Of, platonic klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 16:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18594838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: Voltron was requested to lead peace negotiations between two warring parties. Well, technically the Alteans were requested. No one thought anything of such particular wording. They should have. Because now the natives are hunting Shiro’s party consisting of himself, Lance and Keith with the ultimate goal to turn Lance into the image of one of their revered Altean gods. And as if running through a jungle planet with no supplies and no way off wasn’t hard enough, now Lance is sick, burning up with a fever they have no way to combat. The natives might not be their most dangerous enemy out here after all.Or, the sick!fic with so much angst and whump you could drown in it. Literally.





	Drowning With Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFeverTrope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFeverTrope/gifts).



> **Timeline notes:** Later season two
> 
>  **Warning notes:** Nothing terribly graphic or violent to note here. Mentions of body modification but nothing detailed or gruesome.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss, it’ll be fun,” Lance swung an arm about Keith’s shoulders. “Like a hiking trip.”

“Without supplies, in a foreign terrain and no set extraction,” came the grumbled response. “Not to mention high temperatures, no water and no weapons and some beyond disturbed aliens.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

But for all of Lance’s light hearted teasing Shiro could still hear the note of unease and fear and for all of Keith’s grumbling there was a wary, observant look on his face as he watched Lance out of the corner of his eye and did not shrug off the arm even though he was tense beneath it.

Shiro, taking up the rear, could not blame either of them. He kept clenching his prosthetic as to make certain it was still there and they weren’t weaponless in this dangerous jungle although it wasn’t the creatures he was really worried about.

Voltron had deployed to the hot, humid jungle planet of Succula in regards to a distress beacon that indicated the two factions on the planet were engaged in a civil war and were requesting Voltron’s assistance to set up a ceasefire to discuss options. Well, not Voltron, exactly. The missive had requested Alteans but Allura had believed it to be merely a transcription error, a reference to the fact Voltron had been made by Alteans, and in any case Coran could not descend as he was needed to bring the shuttle pods back up as missive had declared they wanted “no war machines,” and Allura had felt the Lions may be taken as such. Relations were strained between the two sides and the last thing needed for negotiations was a potential hostile action.

Allura, Hunk and Pidge had gone to one side and Shiro, Lance and Keith to the other; Coran dropping them off in supply pods via a tractor beam on the castle on opposite sides of the planet  with instructions to report to a different point (with a map given to them all that Shiro and Keith had already examined on their side) for extraction further out from the civilizations in the later afternoon tomorrow to reconvene with the rest of Voltron at the castle and discuss their findings.

Shiro hadn’t thought anything of the word error, believing Allura’s deduction.

He wished he hadn’t.

The Succuli encampment they had arrived at had boasted tall, humanoid aliens with thick heads of dark red or orange hair, and ears that were sort of angular in appearance but reminded Shiro of how some pet owners cropped their dog’s ears, reinforced as he saw rounder shaped ones on a few younger looking aliens.

And then there were the burn marks.

Burn marks in the shape of Altean crescents on their cheeks.

Shiro should have backed them out right then and there.

But Lance had already been exiting the pod with a cheery hello and had been met by a literal _swarm_ of people all crowding about and touching him in a way that was slightly unnerving to Shiro but Lance had taken it all in stride and Shiro was again reminded why Allura thought that Lance should be a larger part of diplomatic events.

Keith had grudgingly tailed after Shiro into town, having made it clear earlier that he and diplomatic relations were not compatible and that it wasn’t fair he couldn’t bring his luxite blade (an unnecessary weapon for peace negotiations) but Allura had merely dryly remarked his complaint was noted and he was going, and while the two of them had not been near mobbed as Lance had been they had been greeted and Shiro had thought that between the Altean armor and Paladin status all would be well.

It was not well.

The Succuli refused to discuss any business with “outsiders” that were not Altean and when Keith had gone to pull out his bayard to demonstrate that _it_ was Altean there had been a flurry of weapons pointed at them and a lot of high-pitched yelling and it had taken dropping their weapons (Shiro conveniently did not mention his arm’s abilities) to get them to calm down. They’d further had to shed their armor under the distrusting eyes of the armed aliens to get them to lower their swords and spears. Shiro had wanted to protest further but they’d had Keith, deemed the most dangerous, at sword point and had been adamant that if they did not do this then they would be considered spies sent by the other order and they would be eliminated here and now.

He hadn’t even been able to get a message off to Coran as the village was surrounded by high stone walls that cut the signal.

Shiro had remained as calm as he could, hoping that once they showed their compliance the Succuli would back down as well. They had, to his relief.

Only to come back with something far, far more horrifying than being disarmed and viewed as the enemy.

 _“We will only negotiate with an Altean,”_ the leader had said. _“We have reviewed your items and believe they are Altean in make. But we must speak to an Altean.”_ He’d pointed then in Lance’s direction and the boy had raised a careful hand in a wave at the attention.

_“He resembles the Alteans we revere. We will make him an Altean just as we have ourselves. Then we will speak with you.”_

Lance’s smile had dimmed as his complexion paled and Shiro had stepped in front of him, Keith doing the same at his side, and aware now that the Succuli who had so eagerly crowded around Lance with what Shiro had assumed was awe was not at all.

It was an expression of wanting to _do_ something, to _fix_ something because it was not quite right.

It was the same look Haggar used to give him before she’d outfitted him with his arm.

 _“What do you mean?”_ Shiro had demanded, trying to give benefit of the doubt because they _couldn’t_ mean what he thought they did and at the same time shoving away the tattered memory.

The leader had gestured at his own markings and then his shorn ears. _“Burn Altean marks. Snip ears. We have herbs, not too painful. Nice and quick. And then we can speak.”_

Shiro couldn’t entirely remember what he’d said. There’d definitely been a ‘hell no,’ thrown in there at some point and Keith he knew had said something that Shiro really should have reprimanded him for but he was too angry, too horrified to care.

 _“Fine,”_ the leader had bit out and a murmuring had rippled about the town. _“If you will not comply then you must leave. But your belongings are ours. We cannot risk you contacting the others if you are indeed spies.”_

They’d been forced out of the camp in just their underarmour, not even allowed their supply pod, with far too many eyes trained on Lance for anyone’s comfort as though even with their refusal they wanted to alter him still. Shiro had hurried them away with the quiet assurance that they would retrieve their armor and bayards later with Allura or Coran’s assistance.

Right now he just wanted distance between them (Lance) and the Succuli. He wanted to believe that they wouldn’t follow, the talks clearly over, but something niggled at him still. He tried not to show it as it would only cause undue panic in a situation where they literally were trapped on the planet for a long while still.

It would be fine, Shiro told himself. It was maybe about fifteen miles to the extraction point and all of them were in good health to make it there through the jungle and then wait for about two days (although less than a day and a half by the time they reached it, maybe even a day depending on how difficult the jungle was to traverse and their sense of direction) for Coran to retrieve them. The temperature ensured they would not freeze to death although the humidity and heat were uncomfortable they were not life-threatening. There was no real dangerous wildlife according to Coran and the air was fortunately breathable.

Food they could do without for a couple days. Water would be an issue sooner than later and given the heavy hum of insects and the fact the water they’d seen was a dark green and covered with some sort of foam Shiro didn’t trust it not to be ripe with bacteria or some alien bug that they’d then ingest. His prosthetic could heat things and worst case he could cup water in his hand, purify it there (hopefully, mostly) and they could make do.

He’d been in worse spots, definitely. This was entirely doable. He did send a silent prayer that the Succuli did not follow them and let their apparent obsession with Lance go. Their numbers were far greater than Shiro knew he could fight off and the other two were weaponless, and although he knew Keith could hold his own in a fistfight these opponents would have weapons. The odds were not in their favor in a fight and he could only hope that the fact they had been allowed to leave the camp peacefully boded well for them.

He also prayed they didn’t get too lost.

But Keith had a pretty innate sense of direction even though all he’d seen was the glimpse of the map and Shiro had a good heading as well from what he remembered of it.

They’d be fine.

They were already over a mile out and no indication they were being followed and Shiro gradually allowed his shoulders to untense. Keith had escaped Lance’s grip at some point but the latter didn’t seem off put by it, instead walking along the length of a fallen tree without even his hands spread for balance, chin tilted up and catching bits of the orange-colored sunlight that filtered through the thick canopy and looking nothing like the scared version of not even thirty minutes ago. Keith seemed to be feeding off it as while he was still tense like Shiro his shoulders had loosened and his eyes were not constantly darting around.

It never ceased to amaze Shiro how adaptable Lance could be. While he’d admit that sometimes Lance’s more easygoing personality could clash with his own (and especially with Keith, who unlike Shiro did not have that respect and hero worship that still made Shiro blush, to act as a buffer), it was times like these where he appreciated the fact that Lance didn’t let things linger or fester and looked instead for the positives and bright side of the situation.

It was something they should all put into action every now and then.

This would be one of those times.

There was no use in worrying the what ifs; they had a plan (get to extraction point, set up camp, wait) in place and worrying about if the Succuli were going to come after them would do them no favors.

“I think,” his voice broke into the quiet disturbed only by the hum of insects that fortunately had not yet tried to eat them, “Lance is right.”

“Ha!” Lance jumped off the log and pressed a finger into Keith’s chest. “Hear that, mullet? Shiro says I’m right! Er,” he turned to Shiro as Keith smacked his hand away with a grumble, “what am I right about now?”

“We can pretend this is a hiking trip,” Shiro said and Keith’s muffled moan of his name made his grin widen. “So you know, games of I spy and story swapping and see who can find the best walking stick and all that fun stuff.”

“Oh, game on!” Lance cheered. “I’m gonna beat you, Keith, and find the best stick.”

“Well I don’t want a stick so—”

“Start!” Lance cut him off as he raced a few feet ahead.

Keith turned a deploring look on Shiro and Shiro chuckled.

“Have some fun, Keith,” he gave him a gentle nudge.

“Hunting for sticks isn’t fun.”

“Neither is walking like you’re headed to an execution,” Shiro chided gently. “Besides, we’ve gone hiking a few times before and I believe you enjoyed it.”

“With you, yeah,” Keith crossed his arms over his chest. “With Lance?” Both of them looked to where Lance was swinging now from a vine to land atop another log and examine it for a loose branch to pull off.

It wasn’t that Keith disliked Lance. He didn’t. He’d even admit to caring in some capacity for his teammate, proven just a bit ago when he’d felt a sharp bolt of fear strike him as the Succuli’s words became clear and how _scared_ Lance had looked in that moment.

He just didn’t really know how to be his _friend._ It was always rival this, rival that, a competition and a challenge and a test and Keith didn’t _want_ any of that. He just didn’t really know how to articulate as such either as any conversation with Lance tended to be in a group setting and always devolved into some challenge or smart comment that Keith then responded to even though he told himself not to.

The comments now weren’t quite so charged as before, they hadn’t been honestly since Keith had found out he was Galra and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but he was grateful Lance had kept his teasing comments to generally his hair or frown or anger issues rather than Hunk’s attempts at “Galra” jokes that always made him uncomfortable.

He didn’t really know how to get that to stop either.

He just apparently wasn’t meant to have friends. He’d never connected with anyone other than Shiro and that was enough for him.

But not apparently for Shiro, who gave him another gentle nudge as though Keith was a shy kindergartner on his first day of school.

The glare he sent should have had the recipient cowering but all Shiro did was laugh again.

“Fine, fine,” Shiro held up his hands. “I’ll join in too.”

Keith managed a small smile at that and a nod.

If Shiro participated too he could put up with Lance’s antics for a while.

Well over three varga later Keith found out a while was actually a lot longer than he’d thought possible.

And while he wouldn’t say he was having fun per se… he was enjoying himself. It helped that Shiro and Lance were doing the majority of the talking, Lance especially, as he shared story after story of his family and adventures from when they were kids up through Lance’s teenage years as, apparently, he being the youngest sibling meant that he was on the receiving end of a lot of pranks and tomfoolery and he as such had to retaliate in kind by teaming up with various other sibling pairs and made for a lot of hijinks much to their parent’s exasperation.

It…

It almost made Keith think that maybe… maybe some of the things Lance said or did weren’t meant to be taken as an attack or an insult on him but… but was something he did with his siblings. That it was Lance’s way of trying to… to _include_ Keith in a way amongst his already close relationships with Hunk and Pidge.

Based on the fact Keith kept catching Shiro looking at him with something knowing on his face he wasn’t the only one who had made such a connection and Keith felt his cheeks heating in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Lance had even tried to pull a story or two from him but when Keith had mumbled an answer of “I don’t know,” or a shrug to his surprise after only one instance of a (playful?) elbow to his side Lance hadn’t pushed.

It was… nice.

Keith even found himself snickering at some of the stories and outright laughing at a few to his own surprise and Lance’s as well, based on the widening of blue eyes before a brilliant smile had stolen over Lance’s face.

He seemed to be making it a game then to see what he could do to make Keith laugh to the point Keith wasn’t sure if the stories were real or imagined. And if that was his effort for Keith it went double for Shiro, who Lance would glance at sometimes with an almost shy look.

Keith realized then that he wasn’t sure if Shiro and Lance had ever hung out just the two of them. He knew he did, but otherwise… otherwise Shiro tended to be with Allura or the group as a whole. And Keith knew (everyone knew) how much Lance looked up to Shiro, and whenever Shiro grinned or laughed Lance just brightened like a small sun.

Maybe…

Maybe this hike wasn’t so bad after all.

He was starting to get incredibly thirsty though and Lance had been quieter for the last half hour, no longer playfully leaping on logs or off vines and clearly tired too.

So when they came to a river Keith’s first thought was relief.

It morphed to disgust at the state of the water; green and covered in the same foam as the small ponds they’d spotted earlier despite the fact it was moving.

That and they had to cross it and it was easily thirty feet wide.

“Let’s walk along it for a bit,” Shiro said, noting the same problem. “We’ll see if it narrows at any point.”

“Um, before that, we good for a quick break?” Lance asked, hoping it didn’t come out as pathetic as it sounded to him. He had been waiting for Shiro or Keith to maybe call for a rest but of course those two were like machines. He, however, was starting to feel more than a bit light-headed and his legs were _aching_ from the constant trudging and climbing.

“Yeah, buddy, of course,” Shiro said, a twinge of guilt twisting his insides as he should have realized after Lance had gone quieter that they needed a rest. _All_ of them. “Let’s take fifteen minutes, all right? I’ll see if I can’t get us some water too.”

Lance didn’t need told twice and all but collapsed at the side of the river, stretching out on his back with a grateful moan while in his peripheral he saw Keith take a more graceful sit.

Shiro meanwhile crouched at the side of the river and cupped a handful of water in his prosthetic, which was glowing a soft purple.

The scent of something burning unpleasantly permeated the air.

“Ugh, Shiro,” Keith groaned, pinching his nose while Shiro turned his face away from his own hand. Lance was too tired to do the same but let out a groan of agreement.

“It’s burning off the foam, hang on,” Shiro said. A moment later there was the sound of a slurp and then a gagging noise. “It’s… it’s definitely… something,” Shiro gasped and Lance couldn’t help the chuckle at Shiro’s disgusted face. “But it should be clean of contaminants. Who else wants a drink?”

“Me, definitely me,” Lance waved a tired hand.

A few minutes later they all had large leaves cupped to hold the purified water and Lance took a careful sip.

“Hot!” he exclaimed, nearly dropping his leaf.

And then the taste hit and he gagged as Shiro had.

“Ugh, oh _Dios,_ that is _awful.”_

He still took another sip, shuddering.

Keith somehow made no outward reaction.

Show off.

But when it came time to get up and start moving to Lance’s surprise Keith reached a hand down to him, pointedly looking out across the river as pink dusted his cheeks.

“Thanks, man,” Lance said, hoping it came across as sincere and he pulled himself up.

He definitely was not imagining Shiro’s smile then and felt his own cheeks darken.

Look at them, having bonding moments. And all thanks to a super creepy alien race who wanted to burn and cut him up.

Aww.

They walked for about ten minutes with no change in the river width and Shiro called a halt then as they didn’t want to get too far off their route.

“Do we go swimming?” Lance asked, eyeing the water distrustfully.

“No,” Shiro shook his head. “We don’t know how deep it is or what’s in it. We’ll…” His eyes landed on one of the many tall trees by the river’s edge. “We’ll go over. Step back.”

Lance hastily retreated to stand next to Keith as Shiro’s arm whirled to life.

A tree crashed down shortly thereafter, landing almost perfectly across the water with a few feet of trunk on their side and the strange almost bush-like poof of greenery on the other. No branches either, a nice clear walking space, and thick enough that it didn’t look like it was in any danger of cracking.

“Nice job, Shiro!” Lance cheered, holding out a hand for a high-five and beaming when Shiro returned it, although he winced and shook his hand out once Shiro turned.

Ow. Even the flesh hand hit like a boulder.

“Okay,” Shiro surveyed the log. “I think it’d be best if someone held it down on this end as the bank is soft,” for as he spoke some of the dirt on the already low ground as crumbling. “One at a time, quickly but carefully.”

“I’ll go first,” Keith and Lance chorused in tandem, both exchanging glances.

“Either of you,” Shiro said. “I’ll go second as, er,” he rubbed the back of his head, “I think it might be best if someone was holding both sides. If I go down…” he looked at his arm with a coil of dread.

It was heavy.

They didn’t know how deep it was and if he went under…

He might not come back out.

“Yup, agreed,” Lance chirped. “I’ll go last, Keith you can go first. That way you can shout encouragements at Shiro.”

“Ha ha,” Shiro deadpanned but he gave Lance’s shoulder a gentle knock to take away any sting at the tease. “Okay, let’s get moving, Paladins.”

Keith made it across in under a minute, both Shiro and Lance holding the log steady.

Lance tracked as water began to slosh towards the top of it as the bank sank lower.

They’d have to hurry.

Shiro did not hurry.

Lance couldn’t blame him either as drowning was terrifying in its own right, doing so in this murky, gross water and weighed down by his own body was even worse.

Still, by the time Shiro made it across almost three minutes later the bank was definitely crumbling now and the water was starting to trickle over in places like a leaking dam.

He almost wanted to ask Shiro to cut him down another tree but the idea of waiting on _this_ side of the river on his own knowing that the Altean-happy aliens were with him did nothing for Lance’s nerves.

He’d be fine.

And worse case he knew how to swim and the water wasn’t that fast. He’d be fine.

“Lance, hurry up!” Keith shouted from across and Lance stuck his tongue out.

It was the prompt he needed though and he stepped out onto the log.

It rolled beneath his feet and he yelped and jumped back to his bank that crumbled further.

And then he heard it.

Something was moving through the forest behind him.

It felt like a horror movie, slowly turning his head and knowing what it was but praying it somehow wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

Orange hair was visible through the trees.

 _Dios._ It was the Succuli. They’d come after them.

Come after _him._

“Lance!” Shiro’s shout carried and it was with a note of urgency that Keith’s had not been.

They’d seen them too.

“Okay, okay,” Lance muttered to himself. “You can do this. Just, just run across it.”

Water was definitely beginning to spill over the tree now.

Slippery.

Dangerous.

He heard shouting behind him now.

The word Altean.

He knew what they wanted to do to him.

They were definitely more dangerous.

That was the final motivation he needed.

He took a deep breath.

And then he _ran._

He’d made it over halfway across when his foot stepped on a solid patch of water.

Lance wasn’t entirely sure what happened. One moment he was upright and the next he was sideways, warm, tepid water in his face and he hadn’t even had time to take a breath of air.

He popped to the surface within a second, faintly hearing screams of both his name and “Altean!” and “Retrieve him!”

He went under again as the current was apparently moving _much_ faster below the foamy scum layer than they’d thought.

Something _crashed_ against his back and head and he distantly realized that must have been the log.

His mouth opened at the impact…

And water flooded in.

Warm and disgusting and _slimy_ and he choked on it, frantically trying to propel himself to the surface, to the faint glimmer of light.

He had to get free.

Or he was going to _drown._

He found the surface again, hacking and coughing and _air_ and he gulped in a greedy breath, water-blurred eyes trying to find the opposite bank before he was dragged back under the current.

He saw a smudge of peach and black and he made a flailing motion towards it.

And then _pain_ as something — fingers, metal fingers — clamped into his hair but Lance didn’t care as his face was pulled free from the river.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Shiro’s breathless murmur echoed above the roaring in his ear and the angry shouts from the Succuli as a hand reached down and wrapped about his chest in a vice. “I’ve got you, Lance. You’re okay, you’re okay.”

Lance coughed out a stream of water and river scum.

Another set of arms were there then and he was being hauled out of the water, body squelching uncomfortably against a muddy bank. He didn’t even have a second to orient up from down before he was being lifted and thrown over Shiro’s back and they were taking off at a run.

Shiro’s shoulder dug uncomfortably into his stomach and he vomited out more water down Shiro’s back.

He felt too queasy to be embarrassed, although when the taste of acid tickled his tongue he forcefully swallowed it down.

Water was one thing. Puke was definitely another.

But the bouncing was not stopping and his head was _pounding_ and he tried to speak, to beg for Shiro to slow down but all that came out was a croak. He bumped a weak fist against Shiro’s back but all Shiro did was tighten his grip around his waist and Lance moaned.

“Sorry, sorry, just a few more minutes,” Shiro’s voice was muffled from his position. “Hang on, buddy.”

Finally _finally_ they stopped and the world spun as Lance was lowered to the ground into a sit and his head forced to rest between his upturned knees although at least that way everything stopped spinning.

“Breathe in with me,” came Shiro’s voice from behind him along with a heavy hand rubbing his back gently. “Inhale…”

Lance struggled to copy, still tasting bile and river water, and it made him cough.

Eventually though the steady pounding in his head faded to a dull ache and his chest stopped its heaving and while he was becoming aware of how _wet_ and _gross_ he felt in the humid air he no longer felt like dying.

Definitely an improvement.

“‘m okay,” he mumbled, lifting his head and blinking the water from his eyes that his bangs were still dripping.

Keith stared back, perched on his haunches in front of him and looking as worried as Lance had ever seen him.

It was a bit unnerving.

“Lance,” Shiro was behind him and Lance turned slightly so he didn’t have to look at that intense stare and found a just as worried charcoal directed on him. “Did you swallow any water?”

“Pr-probably,” he whispered, ducking his head, stomach churning for a variety of reasons.

The one thing he knew not to do in that kind of environment.

He hadn’t meant to though. Really. He’d tried not to but… but...

“It’s okay,” Shiro’s voice was soothing. “It wasn’t your fault. God, I… I should have moved faster, I—”

“Shiro, no,” Lance jerked his head up.

Shiro was going to blame himself?

“No, that was—”

“No one’s fault,” Keith cut in. His eyes bored into Lance. “Got it?”

Because they were not starting the blame game. Shiro tried to shoulder too much already and Lance… Lance, Keith was realizing, tried to do the same.

And in this case the only enemy had been a shitty river, a crappy log and an insane group of aliens that had forced Lance to put speed over caution. They were just lucky as hell Lance had bounced over to their bank and not the other one where the Succuli had been trying to reach for him.

Lance gave a jerky nod of his head and Shiro let out a low, humorless laugh but also nodded.

Good enough for Keith.

“We’re a lot further downstream then we were but we should have lost the Succuli now,” Shiro said quietly. “We need to keep moving and get back into the trees and away from the river. We have I’d estimate about six miles left until we reach the extraction point and then we can rest. I know you took a bit of a tumble, but you okay to keep moving?”

“Yeah, of course,” Lance responded almost immediately.

Keith frowned.

A tumble was being generous. They’d both seen Lance get _walloped_ by the log and then sent head over heels down about a good quarter mile of river before he’d managed to break the surface close enough to the edge where Shiro had nabbed him. There were at least no broken bones as Shiro had done a quick check as he coached Lance through breathing after trying to swallow the entire river, but Keith would bet he had one hell of a headache.

Keith didn’t say anything though. If he did he knew Lance would take it as a slight against him, as a challenge to keep up. He’d be quiet.

And he’d keep an extra eye on Lance.

It was all they could really do anyway, between that and any possible issues with swallowing said river water. Hopefully it just looked nasty.

“Then let’s go,” Shiro that time offered a hand to Lance and pulled him to his feet. “Make sure you say something if you need to rest, okay?”

Neither commented as Lance swayed with a wince for a moment before he nodded his head, winced again, and took off in the indicated direction.

No one spoke this time.

Keith couldn’t believe it was him thinking this but… he missed the conversation.

It felt wrong to break the silence though and it’s not like he really had anything he wanted to say.

They’d gone about two miles when Lance, second in line behind Shiro, stumbled over flat ground.

He regained his footing within a step, winced, and kept going.

He did it again a few minutes later.

And then again a few after.

“Okay, stop,” Keith called out as Lance _wobbled_ after the next trip over nothing and everyone came to a halt, looking back at him. “Lance, you need to sit down.”

“No I don’t,” the taller boy protested. “I’m fine.”

“You keep stumbling.”

“Well geez, sorry, there’s a lot of roots and vines here Mr. Part-cat.”

Keith didn’t let the barb — and he didn’t think it was in relation to his Galra side either — phase him as he stepped closer.

The light was starting to darken but it was still enough to see that there were splotches of color on Lance’s cheeks.

Exertion?

Keith knew he was tired too, his legs starting to feel like weights, but it wasn’t just that. They were all sweating from the humidity but Lance was _perspiring,_ his bangs sticking to his forehead that had nothing to do with his impromptu bath, and yet beneath his tan he looked pale.

Sick.

“Shiro,” Keith called even though Shiro was already joining him and his face was pulled into a frown as he saw what Keith had.

“I’m _fine,”_ Lance insisted. “Just tired. And I can rest when we get to the extraction point.”

“Lance,” Shiro’s voice was low.

“I said I’m—!”

Lance cut off with a sudden paling as he tipped sideways as he moved his head to dodge Shiro’s outstretched hand for his shoulder.

Only Shiro’s quick reflexes caught him before he hit the ground and he lowered them both to it.

“I’m fine,” Lance repeated, muttered, as though trying to convince himself. “Just tired. And thirsty. Funny, right,” he tilted his head back to catch Shiro’s eye with a grimace of a self-depreciating smirk, “after I tried to drink the entire river?”

Shiro’s stomach clenched.

“Lance, buddy,” he kept his voice low as he gestured for Keith to pull his single glove off and the other boy did so, expression grim. And before Lance could move he slipped his flesh hand beneath Lance’s damp bangs.

He cursed softly at the heat that met him.

“Lance, you’re burning up.”

“What? No,” Lance shook his head but Shiro’s hand remained where it was. “We’re all hot. Jungle, remember? Lots of walking, exercise.”

Even as Lance said it Shiro could see the realization in his eyes second only to the growing horror.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, voice small, as though if he said it enough times it would be true.

There was nothing to say to that.

“No more walking,” Shiro said into the silence. “The exertion is going to make it worse.”

And they had nothing to make it better.

He couldn’t ignore the twist of his gut then.

They were alone in a foreign jungle, no supplies, still over a day out for an extraction, and a violent group likely pursuing them, and Lance was now sick with some foreign contamination — Virus? Bacteria? — from inhaling the untreated water.

“I can walk,” Lance protested but now that Shiro had a hand on him he could feel the minute tremble through the thin body.

He  should never have assumed Lance would say he actually needed to rest. The boy was far, far more like Keith than he probably wanted to be in that regard.

“It’s not happening, buddy,” Shiro said as nicely as he could.

Small steps.

Focus on right now.

And it spoke to how sick Lance must be feeling as he didn’t protest again.

“You think you can hold on to me?” Shiro asked. He didn’t want to risk carrying Lance in his arms when it was his arm that was their sole real offense and the shoulder carry would do more harm than good.

“I am a pro-piggybacker,” Lance said in answer and Shiro was relieved that his sense of humor was still intact.

Within the minute Lance was secured on his back, his arms wrapped snugly but not too tight about Shiro’s neck and Shiro had his arms wrapped about Lance’s calves, holding him steady.

“We’re not going to make it to the extraction point,” Shiro said, that now a fact as daylight steadily trickled away. “Keep your ears open for water, all right? We’ll make camp there.”

“Because water is so great,” Lance muttered.

Keith couldn’t help the snort that escaped him and he was glad he hadn’t as Lance’s lips twitched into a smile.

It fell not too long after as they began walking again, for as even as Shiro’s steps were each motion sent an ache through him and alerting Lance to the fact that yes, he had at least a few bruises from his river adventure, not to mention the twinging stomach and the ache building again behind his eyes.

“Get some rest,” Shiro commanded gently. “Close your eyes if you’re tired.”

Lance did with a mumbled apology that Shiro quietly refuted.

He couldn’t help it though. He was literally bringing the team down and it was his fault the aliens were chasing after them.

An apology was all he had to offer.

He must have dozed at some point as he became aware that he was being lowered down later and he gave a token grumble of objection as Shiro’s semi-comfortable shoulder was replaced with hard ground.

He went to sit up but fell back with a groan as the world _spun_ around him in a nauseating dark blur and he curled up on his side instead, pleading with his stomach to not throw up.

“Easy, easy,” Shiro murmured and a hand — too warm but still comforting and Lance leaned into it this time — found its way to his forehead again.

“He’s hot,” Shiro said, likely to Keith.

Lance couldn’t let that one go, especially with his tongue surprisingly loose.

“‘course I am,” he managed. “You’re… you’re jus’ realizing that?”

And hearing Shiro’s rumbling laugh made his insides settle ever so.

Shiro too was relieved to see the ghost of a smile although his own was short-lived as he took in the fever-flushed cheeks and pallor of normally tan skin and the way Lance was already starting to slur.

This sickness had come on _fast,_ far quicker than anything Shiro had ever seen. He tried to think positive that that meant it should burn out faster as Lance’s temperature rose to fight it, but…

But he didn’t think they would be so lucky.

He didn’t even have the supplies to determine _how_ high Lance’s temperature was except that it was above normal. Sweating out a fever only worked to an extent and based on the fact this was a foreign bacteria he was growing increasingly afraid that a human body was not meant to contract it. Lance could very well burn himself up trying to burn it out.

The temperature had dropped a bit with the disappearance of the sun, but not near enough and the air was sticky with humidity. And as much as Shiro didn’t want to light a fire, both because of the heat and the possible beacon, he did need to be able to see.

“Fire pit is ready,” Keith said quietly, standing by the section of earth he’d cleared of foliage and stacked together a series of sticks and leaves in the middle. They would keep it small and the smoke may not even (hopefully) permeate the thick trees around them.

Shiro lowered his hand and summoning up heat once more he set the kindling ablaze. He turned his attention then to the small stream they’d situated themselves by, opposite side of camp from Lance, and made quick work of gathering a handful and heating it as well, before making his way back to Lance, who had curled up on his side in the interim with his hands wrapped about his stomach.

“Come on, buddy,” he said gently. “Let’s get you some water, huh?”

Lance made a face, not that Shiro could blame him.

Still he allowed Shiro to help him sit, back against one of the few logs that permeated their area, and Shiro brought his hand, metal already cooled, up to Lance’s mouth.

“Seriously?” Lance mumbled, raising an eyebrow even as his cheeks darkened further. Spoon feeding was one thing, this was… something else. And it was _Shiro,_ his team _leader,_ his, _hero._ He felt his blush increase. This was _embarrassing_ but he could feel the shakiness to his own limbs now and his vision was going a bit hazy on the edges and this was infinitely easier than having to balance a leaf.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so sick.

Everything _ached._

It _burned._ The longer he sat there the more fuzzy the world was starting to go on the edges.

“Seriously,” Shiro told him, breaking into the building timpani in his head.

Lance dutifully sipped the handful of water, face twisted the entire time.

And then his face took on a different sort of tinge.

Shiro had seen Hunk make that particular expression enough times to know what was about to happen. He hooked an arm about Lance’s chest and turned him sideways just as the boy heaved, the acidic stench of bile and the jungle water permeating the air.

The smell made Shiro’s eyes water and Lance let out another heave.

“‘m sorry,” Lance gasped around his third heave and even from this angle Shiro could make out tears squeezing out from beneath scrunched lids.

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Shiro soothed, rubbing Lance’s back. “Better out than in.”

The boy stiffened and gasped again, this time as though in pain.

The tumble in the river.

Shiro kept up his steady stream of murmured noises, touch even lighter now, until Lance’s shoulders stopped the largest shaking.

“Any more coming up?” he asked quietly and got a minute head shake in answer.

Shiro carefully maneuvered his prosthetic then under Lance’s knees and lifted him up, carrying him away from the mess to the other side of the camp.

“‘m sorry,” Lance apologized again, voice a rasp. _“Lo siento.”_

“Shh, shh, nothing to apologize for, buddy.”

Lance slumped in Shiro’s hold as he lowered him down and Shiro knew without it Lance would topple over.

He did need to get up though and purify more water and see if he could get Lance to drink it. Fluids were the one thing he had at his disposal.

“Here,” Keith knelt down on Lance’s other side, posture tense but face open worry. “Let me.”

Shiro transferred one of Lance’s arms about Keith’s neck and then disentangled himself.

“Sorry,” came the whisper.

“You say that again I’m going to hit you,” Keith threatened, sitting ramrod straight even as Lance slumped bonelessly against him, cheek smushed atop Keith’s shoulder.

“Sorry.”

Keith finger-flicked Lance’s arm in retaliation but nothing more and Lance let out something that might be a laugh.

Keith hated that sound.

It wasn’t right.

“Let’s try this again,” Shiro crouched down in front of them both a few moments later.

Lance moaned and turned his head, hiding his face against Keith.

“Lance, buddy, you need the fluids,” Shiro said.

He desperately wished he had something else to offer than foul-tasting stream water.

Lance slowly picked his head up, blinking blearily in the weak campfire light and it highlighting the sheen of sweat on his brow, and Shiro brought his hand once more to the boy’s mouth.

He drank it all without further protest.

Shiro rubbed his back carefully as he did, hoping somehow they could convince the water to settle.

“Let’s get you lying down again,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”

He didn’t really know that but Lance looked one blink away from tipping over without Keith’s support.

In answer Lance put his head back on Keith’s shoulder and the other boy stiffened.

Lance didn’t seem to care.

“‘m comfy here,” he said, words muffled.

“And Keith is happy to be your pillow once you’re horizontal as well,” Shiro assured, flicking eyes up to meet Keith’s. “Right?”

A jerky nod was his answer and Shiro mouthed a “thank you,” that softened Keith’s expression some.

He managed to coax Lance to lie down, head resting on Keith’s thigh.

Lance winced at the handling.

“You’re hurt,” Keith said bluntly.

Lance’s silence was answer enough.

“Lance—”

“‘m fine.”

“Lance, buddy, you need to tell us what hurts,” Shiro said.

Lance was silent.

Shiro waited and a look at Keith told him to do the same. 

“... my back,” finally came a hoarse whisper.

“I’m going to take a look, okay? Let me know if I hurt you.”

Lance remained silent.

Shiro took that as a go ahead and gently rotated Lance onto his side and then angled his fingers to push down on the seam at Lance’s waist on the skin-tight underarmor to get it to release. He slipped them under the hem then and pulled the shirt up.

Mottled purple splotches greeted him on Lance’s lower back.

“Oh, buddy,” Shiro murmured, ghosting his hand over one and he felt Lance flinch.

The flesh was hot to the touch.

Too hot.

“I’m going to take this off,” Shiro told him, trying to keep his voice even. “See what else is there and maybe cool you down a bit.”

Lance let out a mumble that Shiro assumed was a yes.

He rolled the shirt as he went, carefully lifting Lance up as he did to pull it free from his front as well.

There was another nasty bruise decorating his right shoulder and a smaller one just above his navel. Nothing broken though, as he’d assured himself earlier, and fortunately no open cuts that the water would have gotten into.

Tugging it off Lance’s arms took a bit more effort and Lance’s attempts to assist didn’t do much as his limbs had grown shaky and Keith ended up having to hold him steady so Shiro could get them off.

More bruises littered dark arms.

Lance though let out a gasp of relief as the garment was removed.

Shiro knew it would be short-lived as the air wasn’t any cooler here and he felt his stomach give another twist at the sheen of sweat that was decorating Lance’s torso. The underarmour was pretty well insulated so while he himself was warm he wasn’t sweating beneath it.

Not like this.

“Shiro,” Keith whispered, and in the flickering light those dark purple eyes looked even more intense as Shiro met them.

Shiro swallowed. “It’s… everything’s going to be okay. Coran will be here in… sixteen varga, give or take. We’re maybe two miles from the extraction point; we’ll make it there tomorrow in daylight and… and wait.”

He didn’t sound confident at all.

“‘m sorry,” Lance apologized again.

“Stop that,” Keith snapped, regretting it as Lance winced. “Stop it,” he repeated, softer. “This isn’t your fault. We went over that, remember?”

“...we did?”

And God help him, Lance actually sounded confused.

“Fever,” Shiro’s breath hitched on the word. Or a head injury, but he hadn’t felt more than a small bump, a miracle all things considered given the size of the tree and Shiro could only imagine the water had cushioned the worst of the impact.

That meant the fever was the root cause of the confusion.

How high had it grown already?

What _was_ this illness?

Keith startled as Shiro’s hand dove for his head and swept beneath his bangs. He held it there for a second before switching it back to Lance’s.

Shiro paled.

Keith yanked off one of his own gloves and pressed it not to Lance’s forehead but to a flushed cheek to see for himself.

Hot.

Lance leaned into it as though Keith’s hand was cold when it most definitely wasn’t.

But it was cool to him. Keith hated to think of what that meant.

Keith kept it there and met Shiro’s eyes again, nausea churning in him even though he wasn’t actually sick.

This was…

This was very bad.

“We need to cool him down,” Shiro said, nearly tripping over his words. “Lance, buddy,” he turned his gaze on half-lidded ocean eyes. “We need to cool you down.”

“...’kay?” Lance turned it into a question.

“We’re going to remove the rest of your undersuit, all right? Is that okay?”

Because even though it needed done Shiro couldn’t do something so… personal, not when Lance was at least semi-lucid.

He hated that he was even thinking in terms of lucidity already.

“‘kay,” Lance agreed with a little flop of his hand.

Shiro met Keith’s eyes again. “Help me.”

Between the two of them they stripped off Lance’s gloves, shoes, socks and then the rest of his underarmour to leave him in just a pair of navy boxer shorts. More bruises were revealed on his legs.

Lance’s newly exposed skin prickled in the air.

Better.

For now.

Shiro would kill for a breeze, but the air here was heavy with its stillness.

Scratch that. He’d rather kill for some sort of antibiotic or for some magical way off this planet.

“Thas’ better,” Lance said to no one in particular.

“I’m glad, buddy,” Shiro carded a hand through the sweat-damp hair and Lance let out a contented murmur. “Get some rest now.”

At that overbright eyes opened. “Shouldn’... keep watch?”

“Keith and I have that covered. Promise.”

“‘Kay.”

To Shiro’s relief Lance’s breaths fell into the deeper rhythm of sleep almost instantly.

He knew it wasn’t going to remain that easy.

“He’s going to get worse,” Keith said, as though reading his mind. His hand, resting again on Lance’s cheek, trembled. “Shiro…”

“I know, I know.”

But Shiro didn’t know how they were going to do anything about it.

Keith hated the despair in Shiro’s voice.

There had to be something out here they could use. What did people use before medicine? How did people keep cool in high temperatures?

No.

Not people.

_Animals._

Keith’s eyes lighted on the softer dirt by the streambed.

“I have an idea.”

He prayed it worked.

xxx

Lance woke up to the sensation of something slimy being rubbed against his chest.

He twitched, nose wrinkling as the smell of whatever it was infiltrated his senses.

His stomach cramped, a horrible seizing sensation that made him gasp with pain.

And then he tasted the sensation of bile in his throat.

He gagged.

It _burned._

His eyes watered and a second later hands — too hot, too much, they burned too — were gripping him by the shoulders and pulling him to a sit and he was expelling whatever had come up his throat.

He couldn’t stop.

Even when there was no new substance burning his lungs he couldn’t stop heaving and he was dimly aware he was crying as his eyes burned now too and his nose felt thick and it _hurt._

It hurt so much.

He pushed weakly against the hands, arms, wrapped about him, because they were too _hot,_ but he couldn’t find any sort of purchase.

He sobbed as though he could cry the burning away.

It didn’t.

It made his chest tighten more and hurt worse.

He became aware of another noise besides his sobs and the pounding, crackling in his ears.

Someone was talking.

“—shh, Lance, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re okay, buddy.”

The voice sounded scared.

Familiar.

He forced open his eyes.

They caught the glimmer of a metal arm wrapped snugly about his chest.

Shiro?

His eyes rolled up in his head before he could think about it anymore.

xxx

“What do we do?” Keith’s voice was small, smaller than Shiro had heard it in a long, long time.

He didn’t know how to answer that.

They’d dug into the earth, deeper and deeper until tepid mud had given way to a slightly almost cool to the touch version, hidden away from the sun and heat of the planet. Hippos did it, Keith had said, to cool themselves down and despite the circumstances Shiro had let out a full body laugh at Keith’s blush of bringing up his favorite animal.

Better yet, it had worked.

They’d coated Lance in a layer of it minus his face, and while his cheeks remained high spots of color the restless twitching had stopped and his breath had evened even more.

Keith wondered if Lance would be appalled at being covered in mud or consider it some weird spa treatment.

He went with the latter, just to try and ease the tight feeling in his chest.

He didn’t like seeing Lance like this. Too still. Too quiet. He hadn’t even woken once during the application or the removal when it dried and they scraped it off with blunted fingernails and then reapplied a new coat.

Shiro said it was good, that his body was resting.

Keith chose to believe that.

They took turns applying the coolant, and by the end of about six hours and well into the overnight they were nearly as mud-streaked as Lance. It was exhausting but Keith had felt hope.

This would work until Coran arrived.

Lance would be okay.

But then he hadn’t been.

He’d started spasming and Shiro had barely gotten him upright before he was vomiting again although it was mostly dry heaves and stomach bile.

And he’d been _crying._

He was in _pain._

And they could do _nothing._

Having Lance pass out was almost a relief except that Keith knew the fact he was blacking out wasn’t good at all.

His own body was going to kill him.

“The water,” Shiro’s voice broke the silence, even the insects down for the night. “I’m going to take him into the stream.”

Keith’s head jerked up. “What? Are you _crazy?_ Shiro, that water is what fucking did this!”

“I know. I know, but… but even though it’s warm it’s still cooler than this,” Shiro waved a mud-crusted hand at the air. “I’m fully covered,” he continued, “and will make sure both of our faces stay out of the water.”

It made sense. It did. But…

“I’ll go,” Keith said. “If… if you fall, Shiro, your arm…”

“Keith—”

“No,” he cut in, temper flaring. “No. Don’t give me that. I’m the best one to do it and you know it. It’s _stupid_ for you to risk yourself like that.”

Shiro slammed a fist into the ground with a strangled yell, feeling his own eyes pricking with frustration.

This was on him. He should have never approved this mission, should have insisted they leave in the pod the moment they’d threatened Keith, screw the negotiations. He should have pushed them to move faster, quicker, rather than engaging in a hike.

He shouldn’t have taken so long to cross the damn river.

He choked back the sob.

His fault.

And now Lance...

“Shiro, hey,” and Keith’s voice was soft, his touch on Shiro’s shoulder more so. “It’s… it’s gonna be okay.”

And the fact Keith was trying to comfort _him_ showed Shiro how not okay it was.

“Sorry,” he whispered, pushing the words past his clogged throat. “I’m… I’m better now.” He rubbed the back of his hand, relatively mud free, across his face, and looked up to meet Keith’s eyes. “And you’re right. You should do it.”

Keith did not look all that comforted but he gave a slow nod, letting it drop and Shiro was grateful.

“Be careful,” Shiro cautioned as Keith rose to his feet. “We don’t know how deep it is.”

“I will. Promise.”

And Keith kept his word, inching into the dark stream until the bank gave way but he could still touch the ground and the water hovered at mid-chest. He thought it might feel slightly cooler, maybe, but it was hard to tell. Shiro came over to him a moment later, Lance cradled in his arms, and illuminated from behind by the fire.

Lance looked so _small._

It wasn’t a word Keith had ever associated with Lance before and one he didn’t want to start now.

Shiro lowered Lance down and Keith lifted his arms to catch the taller boy against the buoyancy of the water.

Lance let out a soft moan as he sank into the stream and his eyes fluttered.

“Lance, hey,” Keith kept his voice soft as he maneuvered Lance so the dark head was raised on his chest and the rest of Lance was floating in front of him. “You’re okay. You’re in the water now.”

 _“Hace calor,”_ came a mumble.

Spanish.

Keith did not know Spanish.

And the fact Lance was reverting to it…

“Lance—”

“ _Hace calor. Por f-favor._ _Es… es demasiado caliente.”_

Lance turned then, fighting Keith’s grip.

“Lance stop moving,” Keith tightened his hold; one arm wrapped about Lance’s chest and the other beneath his back to support him. Mud squelched between his re-gloved fingers.

“No, no no,” Lance was trying to writhe free, feet kicking weakly under the water. “ _Ha_ _ce demasiado calor. Por favor. Hazlo parar.”_

To Keith’s horror he sent water flying and he ducked his head down to shield both of their faces.

“Lance, stop,” Keith gritted out at the same time Shiro called from the bank a more soothing version of, “Lance, calm down, buddy.”

Lance kicked at the water again. “Hot,” he moaned.

“I know, I know it is,” Keith couldn’t adopt the calm tone of earlier. “Stop moving, you’re making it worse.”

Lance stilled.

Keith couldn’t believe that had worked.

But when Lance opened his eyes and blinked up at him they were not lucid.

“Marco?” came the breathy whisper.

Marco, who Keith knew from hearing Lance talk today, was one of his brothers.

He thought...

“No, I’m—”

“Marco, _hace calor,”_ Lance was speaking quickly, fever-bright eyes focused on Keith’s face but clearly seeing someone else. _“¿Dónde está_ Mamá _? N-necesito_ Mamá _, por favor._ Marco _, por favor.”_ One of Lance’s hands weakly lifted in the water, trying to reach Keith’s face and he jerked his head back at the droplets.

Lance’s face crumpled.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Keith apologized, babbling at the sheer pain and fear etched into Lance’s expression.  “I’m, I’m not Marco, Lance. It’s Keith.”

“Lance,” Shiro called again from the bank and Lance turned his eyes in Shiro’s direction.

“Papá?”

He sounded so _young._

Shiro swallowed and bobbed his head. “Yes, _sí_. Lance, you need to be still now, okay? Lie still.”

“ _Lo siento,_ Papá _,”_ Lance whispered. “ _Me duele. P-pero...Trataré.”_

Both caught the sorry, neither knew the second half but Lance stilled in the water and Keith carefully adjusted his grip again.

“Shiro, this isn’t going to work,” Keith said quietly once Lance’s eyes slipped closed. “He… he needs help. Now.”

And the only people who might know how to help… would be the Succuli.

“We can’t do anything until daylight,” Shiro said, exhaustion in ways more than one clear. “We’ll… we’ll figure it out then.”

He hoped they were all still around to see it.

xxx

They made it to the extraction point, identified by the strange rock formation both Shiro and Keith remembered seeing on the map, after several missed turns and backtracking that had Shiro cursing even though he hadn’t known at what.

What exactly though Shiro thought would happen when they got there he wasn’t sure, but he hated that the answer was a resounding nothing.

They’d moved at first light, Lance cradled in Shiro’s arms and breath raspy against his chest.

He didn’t have time to wait for Coran.

He also didn’t have time to go back to the village and see if they’d heal Lance.

Even if they did Shiro could imagine what the cost for that would be.

He hated that he was even considering it.

He’d tried to get the boy to drink more water throughout the night and morning, managing to get a few mouthfuls in him but Lance had vomited it all out.

He’d stopped sweating.

It wasn’t a good sign.

He hadn’t spoken much beyond a few mumbles, calling for his parents and settling on the fact Shiro was his dad.

Shiro went along with it. It was the only comfort he could offer, even if it was a false one.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this scared in his life and considering what had happened already to him it was a pretty high bar.

“We need the Succuli,” Keith said, sitting next to Lance in the shade of one of the trees with the boy’s head propped atop his knee.

“Keith—”

“We can take it by force,” Keith continued, lifting red-rimmed, exhausted eyes up from being awake all night. “You can scare them with your arm. We’re not,” his hand, lightly holding Lance’s wrist as he continually checked for the fluttering pulse, “doing it their way. We won’t do that to him.”

Because if Shiro and Lance wanted to play the blame game, Keith knew who it fell to. He was the one who’d pulled a weapon and lost them their communications and gained the Succuli’s further distrust and anger. He was the one who had crossed the river first when Lance should have gone as they’d known he was the one the Succuli were interested in.

And he would not let them disfigure Lance in the name of saving his life.

Shiro returned to their side from where he’d been pacing the length of the small clearing. “How? They have no idea where we are.”

“Then make some noise.”

It was a very Lance suggestion and both looked as one to the ashen, pinched face with fever painted on for blush.

“Okay,” Shiro nodded, eyes hardening. “Let’s make some noise.”

He clambered to his feet and went to the opposite side of the clearing, arm glowing.

He slashed it into one of the trees.

Again and again and again, channeling all of the frustration and anger and fear threatening to drown him into the strikes.

The tree gave a groan.

And _fell_ with a crash that sent insects buzzing in a swarm.

Shiro moved onto the next one.

Three trees later he stepped back, panting, and positioning himself in front of Keith and Lance.

Now they waited.

And twenty-two long dobashes later, broken up only by Lance’s intermittent moans and mumbles, the Succuli appeared.

There were about twenty of them, Shiro noted, far too many for him to fight and win.

He’d do so anyway.

Leading the group was the Succuli they had spoken to at the village, one of the apparent elders.

Shiro wasted no time, locking gazes with the alien.

“He needs help.”

“We know,” the Succuli inclined his head. “We saw him fall in the deadly River Talinan. It is a miracle he has made it this long without aid. Aid we are willing to give.”

“At what cost?” Keith snarled from behind.

“We can only help our own,” the alien responded evenly. “Let us make him one of us. He will be revered, adored. We will treat him like a God.”

Shiro recoiled.

Their obsession with Lance was far worse than he’d thought.

“You want to keep him,” Keith said flatly. “Like, like some _pet.”_

“No, no,” the Succuli waved a hand. “You misunderstand. He would be beloved. Our idol. He would want for nothing.”

“It’s not happening,” Shiro snarled.

“Then we cannot help you.”

The Succuli looked _sad_ at the announcement, grieved, as though they had just lost something dear.

Shiro saw red.

“Give us the medicine _now,”_ he took a step forward, hand thrumming at his side and hearing the sharp inhales made something in his chest tighten and release in the same instant. “Or I’ll take it from you.”

“You overestimate yourself,” the leader sniffed as his brethren raised spears and swords all about him. “Let there be only one death today. Stand down and we will not attack.”

“Shiro,” Keith whispered.

He wasn’t sure what he was trying to say.

“I can’t do that,” Shiro said, hand trembling at his side.

“Then so be it.”

Shiro swallowed. He didn’t want to do this.

He had to do this.

For Lance.

He took one step forward…

And a _roar_ shattered the sky.

Shiro could almost cry. He would recognize the Lions anywhere.

As one everyone looked up to see the sun blotted out by the underbelly of the Yellow Lion. The Succuli scattered into the trees and Shiro hurriedly backed up to cover Keith and Lance as dirt and leaves flew through the air as the Lion landed with an earth-shattering thump.

Three figures were disembarking a moment later: Hunk, Pidge and… Allura.

Upon seeing her the Succuli let out gasps of awe.

“Allura,” Shiro called her attention, summoning them all and Hunk’s little cry stabbed right into Shiro’s heart.

“What has happened?” she demanded, hardly audible over Hunk’s wail of Lance’s name as he sank to his knees next to Keith and Lance, grabbing one of Lance’s limp hands into his own.

“Lance is sick, they have medicine,” Shiro said quickly. “But they want to make him—”

“An Altean, I have gathered,” Allura scowled, waving her hand at Shiro’s wide-eye look. Jewel eyes narrowed dangerously. “Allow me to handle this.”

And Shiro watched, heart in his throat, as she crossed the clearing to the Succuli, who fell into deep bows at her approach.

“How?” Shiro whispered and Pidge somehow heard him.

“The other tribe was crazy,” she said, voice hard. “We found out the whole feud started over how to make themselves look more Altean; whether they should cut the marks out of the face or burn them in.”

Keith sucked in a harsh breath and Shiro’s eyes widened.

“You dare to threaten one of my Paladins—”

Allura’s voice carried across the clearing and the Succuli had gone from bowing to cowering.

Shiro felt vindictive glee curl in his chest.

“Please, Altean Princess,” started the leader. “We—”

“Give me the medicine,” Allura commanded and a bottle was handed to her by a shaking hand. “We are done here,” her voice was cold.

“Altean Princess, please—”

“Enough!” Allura _roared_ almost like a Lion and Lance startled, flinching even in unconsciousness at the volume.

“Settle your blood feud on your own,” she growled. “For the Alteans want no part of it.”

“Princess—”

Allura was already walking away, hair billowing behind her.

“We are leaving,” she said curtly, but as Shiro caught her eye he could see only fear and worry. “Board the Lion now.”

They did so silently, Shiro settling Lance down on the pulled out cot and Allura upended the jar full of what looked like small capsules.

“Shiro, assist me,” she ordered and Shiro helped pry open Lance’s jaw and Allura deposited the pill into Lance’s mouth, shrugged, and added two more for good measure, and Shiro massaged his throat to get him to swallow them.

He winced but made no other motion.

Shiro’s breath hitched.

Were they too late?

“Give it time,” Allura said, voice soft now and one of her slender hands descended on his shoulder. “Lance is strong. He will be fine.”

And as if agreeing Lance let out a little mumble and turned, pressing his face against Shiro’s hand still lingering on his cheek.

He let out his breath.

“Coran,” Allura raised her voice, “prepare a vein valve and glornack seeds and meet us in the Yellow Lion’s hangar.”

“ _Right away, Princess,”_ Coran sounded over the front console.

Quiet echoed in the cramped cockpit where everyone had piled in.

“Thank you, Princess,” Shiro said, breaking it. “You—”

“No thanks, please,” Allura cut him off. “It was my misinterpretation of the missive that put you all into harm’s way.” Her gaze traced Lance’s face. “Instead I must apologize and beg your forgiveness.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Shiro said. He met Keith’s eyes. “No one here is to blame. For _any_ of this.”

Keith gave a slow nod.

What followed then was a quick explanation from both sides, the others’ story involving reaching out to the mice, a storming of the other camp and finding only armor, a search all night long through the jungle and finding them based on the commotion at the rendezvous point, which they had been checking intermittently the entire time but not knowing if the others would make it back there without their armor and map.

By the time they were landing Lance was beginning to twitch a bit on the bed and if Shiro’s eyes didn’t deceive him he swore his cheeks were a little less pink.

He waved off Allura and Hunk’s offer to carry Lance to the stretcher Coran had prepared, not quite ready to let go of him.

Not yet.

It had been too close.

Just as he was putting him onto the cot Lance’s eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” Shiro whispered, bracing himself for whatever Lance called him.

Lance blinked.

“Sh-Shiro?”

Shiro felt tears prick his own eyes.

“Yeah, buddy, right here,” he murmured, reaching down and taking one of Lance’s hands into his own and squeezing it.

Ocean orbs widened. “Ke—”

“Here,” Keith cut him off and after a moment’s hesitation he picked up Lance’s hand between his own. “You with us?”

“Are… are we going somewhere?” Lance rasped out.

“You are going to the infirmary, my boy,” Coran said, bustling over and slipping the Altean IV into the dark hand around Shiro’s grip. “The others are of course joining you.”

“Coran?”

Lance blinked, looking beyond confused. “Wh… what happened? How did…? Are we…?”

He rotated his head on the thin pillow, getting a glimpse of the hangar and the others gathered to the side.

“We made it home, buddy,” Shiro said, rubbing his hand over Lance’s knuckles as Coran finished affixing the fluid bag. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Pieces were starting to trickle back in and Lance both wanted to laugh and cry.

“That… that was some hiking trip, huh?” he mumbled instead of either.

“Never again,” Keith said vehemently and Lance gave a little start at the tone. “But,” he squeezed Lance’s hand, “it wasn’t all bad.”

Lance weakly squeezed it back.

“He’s right,” Shiro said softly.

Lance let out a hum, eyes fluttering closed at that even as a soft smile formed on his lips.

He still couldn’t quite remember all that had happened, but…

But Shiro and Keith were here. They were okay.

He was too.

They were all together. They were safe.

And that was all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for thefevertrope (7k, that as you can see clearly went a little off the rails ^^;) requesting a sick!fic with Lance as victim, Shiro and Keith as caretakers and done so via bacteria-infested water while stranded on a planet. I just, er, went a little crazy with that. Whoops xD
> 
> If you enjoyed the fic, please please do leave a comment below detailing what you liked about it (the small details make my day!) Emotional support and validation is super important and appreciated and your comments mean the world. **_Please_ don’t just read and run! Leave a comment! Thank you!**


End file.
